Sister Dear
by Runa93
Summary: Something from the past strikes into Holmes and Watson's peaceful life. What is this nightmare from the past? How is it related to Watson? What is Holmes to do?ON HIATUS
1. Author's Note

**Author's note**

**I'm sorry for placing an author note before and I know that it is incredibly boring to read through this but please do so.**

**This is high rating because of the mentions of certain acts in this. NOT BECAUSE ****ITS**** SLASH. It is not slash.**

**Also I make a lot of assumptions regarding Watson's childhood and family but ****be**** sure I did this to fit my story. It is not true, so please do not use this fanfiction as a source of information****You may, if you want to). Most of the stuff here is entirely my imagination.**

**Also, this is dedicated to Ms. Chewing Gum. I'm not trying to copy her style ****or**** anything but I'm only using her idea of a story written completely in drabble style. You won't sue me, will you? ****The drabble**** idea was ALL yours.**

**Oh and before I forget, Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson are not my property. Only a certain people in this story are mine. You'll find out if you read on.**

**Thank You! **


	2. Pain

When I awoke, there was a fog around me.

There was a horrible throbbing pain in my head, and I felt dizzy and nauseous at the same time.

Where was I?

It was then I saw the white uniform of the nurse next to me. The aching pain in my head reduced enough to allow one rational thought.

I was in a hospital.

**I will be continuing the other drabble series also butreally need help! Will someone send me some ideas? I want atleast 10! Then i'll be done!**


	3. Remebrence

I answered the doctor's questions slowly and blearily. When was I attacked? Who attacked me? Did I see them?

As I ran over the details, my mind went into a blank. I heard Dr. Turner shout something at the nurse and frantically start to compress my chest.

But only one memory remained in my mind. The dull thunk of a blow, the scream of a women's voice and the rough laugh of a man's.

But one name echoed in my mind.

_Julia._


	4. Response

_**Holmes POV**_

I must have broken more then a dozen hospital rules by the time I staggered through the door of Watson's dorm with a couple of harried nurses at my heels and what appeared to be a supervisor of some sorts.

One look at my poor friend prompted the cry that I had been holding in since I heard the news.

"Oh God! Watson!"

But he did not look up, or respond.


	5. Days

It was three days later when he awoke.

I had not moved from his bedside at the time neither had received any visitors. Three days of absolutely incomparable panic.

When he awoke, he looked around and his eyes swept around the room. They flashed past me with a fleeting glance and finally settled on the door at the far end.

For a whole day I sat there but he neither looked at me nor gave any sign of having seen me.

Oh God, no. Please no.


	6. Trauma

Post Traumatic Stress disorder.

A Psychological reaction occurring after a highly stressing event, characterized by depression, Anxiety, Flashbacks and recurrent nightmares.

I sat still, listening to the doctor's explanations with only half an ear. My mind rushed past all the 'highly stressing' events that could have affected my Boswell.

The Afghan War.

His brother's death.

….Reichenbach.

None of them will affect him now. Those ghosts are dead and gone.

What is it, Watson? Who hurt you like this?


	7. Grey

**Watson's POV**

He still hasn't left. The man with the grey eyes hasn't left yet.

I didn't quite notice him but now I think I know him. A little.

He hasn't moved from my bedside, for two days now. Every time I see him, he looks at me with such pain.

I _know _him. I know I do. Somewhere in my fever befuddled brain his name is there. But I can't find it.

Oh god, how my head hurts. Why am I in so much pain? Whose voice is it that screams out at me?


	8. Names

**Holmes POV**

It was a week later that he remembered me.

Mycroft had managed to pull me out of the hospital for a few minutes 'in order to eat'. By the time I arrived back, he was screaming.

I wasn't allowed in. And so waited outside, each scream piercing me like a barb, unnoticed tears on my cheeks.

Two names. He had screamed two names. That's what they told me, after they had calmed him down.

_Holmes._ Then, _Julia._


	9. Julia

_John! Run! Hurry!_

Who is there? Who are you!

_Quickly John! Hurry!_

I know you. I know you.

_Let go of her! Julia! Julia!_

"Calm down! We are here! Dr. Watson, can you hear us?"

The doctor is shaking me and I twist and turn in my bed, my screams mingling with the one in my head.

They are trying to help me but not like this, not like this. Can't they hear her! She's in trouble! She needs help!

As I collapse back in the bed, I see the man standing by the door, his fists clenched, his cheeks damp.

"Holmes!"

Sherlock Holmes fades out of my vision as I feel the sedation overcome me.

_A tall girl with dark reddish hair._

"Julia…."


	10. Keys

"Julia?"

I looked at my brother sitting beside the bed of his poor friend. He looks pale and drawn, more so then usual, and I noted his unhealthy complexion. He really should eat more.

"That's all he said. That's all he has been saying when he wakes, if he ever does that is." Sherlock looks tired to the bone, but I can tell the iron resolve under his exhausted exterior.

"Alright. I'll see what I can do. But for that I need the keys. To the doctor's room." I hold out my hand.

I can see Sherlock pause, then he slowly draws a small keys out of his pocket and hands it to me.

I take it and leave the room.


	11. Waking

"Watson?"

The voice at the edge of my consciousness is gentle and scarcely audible. It almost evades capture, but I hear it nevertheless.

"Holmes…?"

I know him. His expression lights up with a pure happiness that I have never had the occasion to see. His slate eyes are…damp. Why are they damp? Has he been crying? But how can that be? Sherlock Holmes does not cry.

But once I hear his voice, I am forced to reconsider my thoughts. There is nothing in his voice but emotion.

"Oh, thank God….Thank God. My dear Watson."


	12. Sister

They tell me I have been in a half comatose state for a week but I do not believe them. Or more likely, I do not have the _time _to believe them.

I needed Holmes desperately. I needed to tell him…about who attacked me…about my dreams….about my nightmares.

I needed his _help._

But, just when I had needed him the most, he had disappeared. Apparently he had stuck around for a few hours after my recovery and then had gone.

Where, they had no idea.

I needed to tell him. About the girl. About Julia.

About my sister.


	13. Photograph

**Mycroft's POV**

For a deductive observer, nothing can be more interesting then a retired military man from the Afghan War's trunk.

For two hours I looked past the old yellowing papers and enough dust to cover Baker Street twice and over and finally found what I was looking for.

"Ah!"

There was a skidding sound and I saw my younger brother slide through the door and come crashing into me.

"What have you found?"

I looked down at the photo frame in my hand.

"Something very interesting."


	14. Soul

His sister.

I look at the photo that Mycroft hands me and, for the first time, pay no attention as he explains me the various ways the girl sitting in the picture, red hair thrown back, the slight curve of a smile on her lips and the mischievous twinke in her eyes, is his sister.

I don't need to look for signs; this is his sister.

And underneath is written, in Watson's curling handwriting, slightly shaken at the edges, as if while writing it he was under great emotional duress.

_Julia Watson._

_Born :__ April 10!847(1)_

_Died: February 16, 1867_

Underneath, Watson had scribbled the following words

_May God rest her sweet __soul._

**(1)I'm using ****Pompey's**** fic that Watson was 27 when he came out of the afghan war. ****That would make his birth date as 1854. Julia is 7 years his senior so she was born in 1847.**


	15. Where

**Watson's POV**

Strictly calculating, I've been in this hospital nearly three weeks now. And all I have to know about my attack is that I was found in the corner of an alley, blood oozing from the back of my head.

I have lost some blood, but not enough to be serious. They tell me that all they know about my assailants is that they were Scottish and middle aged. Nothing else.

I do not remember this. All I remember is the heavy smell of alcohol and the raucous laugh of a man. And, most vividly, I remember the sudden rush of anger and hatred at that sound.

What is this now? What is going on? Why is my memory so blurry? And what does Julia have to do with this?

_Holmes, where are you!?!?_


	16. Way

**Holmes POV**

"The point is, Sherlock" I heard my brother say "why has he occasioned to remember her so suddenly?" I felt his hand on my shoulder "Please pay attention, Sherlock. I need to know everything about her."

I looked up to meet his piercing eyes and shook my head.

"I know nothing of her. I didn't even know he had a sister."

I could not meet his eyes and looked down as he gave a sigh and walked away. The picture blurred into my vision and I was aware of a sudden ominous feeling.

"Go ask him, Sherlock." My brother's voice was heavy. "It's the only way."


	17. Don't

**Watson's POV**

Holmes sat in front of me, fidgeting nervously. I kept my eyes lowered, looking at the photograph in my lap.

"I'm terribly sorry, Watson."

A few tears fell onto the picture.

"It wasn't your fault."

I felt his hand on my shoulder and from his tone understood him to be really distressed.

"It wasn't my intention to pain you."

_A tall girl, laughing at the edge of my vision, vanished from view, leaving behind a cold, friendless world._

I shook my head, tears still blurring my vision.

"It's not your fault. It isn't like I remember her."


	18. Hurt

"You mean, you have _absolutely _no memory of your sister, until the age of 13?"

"Yes. Except some blurry facts I remember nothing else."

I bit my lip, looking at my friend who had returned to looking at his sister's photograph. I was aware of how much pain it caused to dredge up long forgotten memories. In my clients I could view it with a calculating eye…but…this was different. This was _Watson._

I couldn't do this to Watson.

I took a deep breath. In the end, I had to help Watson. This was the only way. I just hope I don't hurt him anymore then he already is. I'll never forgive myself if I did.

"I need you tell me everything you remember of her, Watson."


	19. Attack

"She…well…I really don't know what you want, Holmes." I looked helplessly at my friend, who put a soothing hand at my shoulder.

"It doesn't matter, old fellow. Just tell me what you remember, no matter how irrelevant."

I took a deep breath.

"Well, like I said, there is a very little I remember. She was very tall and she liked to read and I remember that she smelled of strawberries-"

I stopped embarrassed. My friend's hand on my arm tightened gently.

"And-And I think she and Henry were closer then she was with me." I closed my eyes trying to concentrate.

"Henry?"

"My brother. He was probable the only one who remembered her properly, except…"

Holmes looked at me, lines of sorrow and sympathy on his face. His hand remained on my arm.

"And- I think we were in Scotland at that time and lived in a village, I really don't remember its name or anything about it except that it had a church-"

_A church.__People talking and Julia running in front of me followed by a tall boy with sandy hair, both laughing._

_"John, honestly, hurry!"_

_"Papa said that if we are late then he won't show us the surprise that he had got! Hurry up!"_

_I ran up in an effort to catch up with my brother and sister and out of the corner of my eye I saw a tall, black haired boy watching my sister carefully._

The world took a sickening revolution. I heard a chair fall over.

"Watson? Watson!"


	20. Trembling

**Holmes POV**

I don't remember if I have ever been so frightened.

Watson had started speaking of a church then suddenly his form had gone extremely stiff and his breathing shallow and harsh.

I called his name over and over, begging and pleading him to listen to me, cursing myself for asking questions when he was weak, when his form started trembling violently and tears rolled down his face.

I held him for uncounted time, listening to his sobs and feeling him shaking. His repeated her name over and over and for the first time I hated that name for causing him such pain and myself even more for bringing this upon him.

"Julia, Julia…."

"I'm sorry, Watson, oh I'm so sorry…."


	21. Nightmare

_"The names Lambert" The tall youth held out his hand to the red haired girl in front of him "David Lambert. __Nice to meet you."_

_The girl looked nervously around. "I'm not very sure about this. My parents…"_

_The youth grinned. "Nah, they won't know anything." He jerked a thumb towards the dense patch of trees at the back. "C'mon."_

_The girl still hesitated. "Is it very important?" she ventured timidly. "Can't we wait until my brother-"_

_"He's not in the secret!" The grin on the boy's face grew wider. "Just a few minutes, lass, c'mon."_

_ The girl __hesitated__ one more tome, then slowly taking the boy's hand, allowed him to lead him into the trees._

_Behind a tall, red haired boy followed quickly in his sisters footsteps._

I gave a gasp and sat up from my nightmare.

The hand on mine moved slowly and I looked around to see Sherlock Holmes sit up with a gasp, his eyes red rimmed, his face pale and his shirt soaked with perspiration.

"Watson!"


	22. Improbable

**Mycroft's POV**

I had the worst shock of my life when I entered the doctor's dorm in the hospital.

Oh, it wasn't the doctor. He looked fine, well as fine as he could look considering his attack. No, it wasn't the doctor; it was Sherlock.

He was sitting next to Watson, gripping his hand and speaking softly. When he turned at my entry, I saw his eyes. They were wet and red-rimmed. Only one deduction can be made from this.

He had been crying.

I know this is not, truthfully speaking, possible, but as I have already confirmed for myself nearly a dozen times that it wasn't a trick of a light, I suppose it has to be the only truth.

Besides as Sherlock once said, if you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains _however improbable_, must be the truth.


	23. Force

"David Lambert?"

"Yes. Tall, with black hair and wearing riding clothes."

I could sense Sherlock watching me warily. As he had been, since the moment I had implied questioning the doctor about his dreams. I had no doubt that he had attempted to do the same, and probably had encountered the most disastrous results. 

"Did he…"I paused, attempting to frame the question better "Did he…attempt to…force her, to come with him?"

For a moment, I feared I had made a fatal mistake as Dr. Watson clenched his hands and Sherlock tensed, but soon my fears were seen to be unfounded as he shook his head.

"No, just asked her to come with him. Into the forest."

"Did you go with her?"

"I…do not remember yet."

I glanced at Sherlock. We both knew where this was leading. 


	24. Clench

"Sherlock, I-"

"We will discuss about this later, Mycroft." My brother gave me a fierce look and placed his hand protectively on his friend's. "Watson is no doubt very tired and I would not like to push him."

"If you insist." I gave an exaggerated sigh, but I was secretly very thankful about this. Sherlock's protective nature might be seen as strange by others, but I knew that, secretive he might be, he still wanted to protect the closest person to him in his life. And, if I was allowed to voice my opinion, the poor doctor did look terrible.

I turned to the doctor "We shall talk about this later, sir. Meanwhile, I would like to- sir?"

Sherlock turned at the sound if my question. Dr. Watson was looking out of the window, his gaze unfocussed, his face lined with strain and his hands clenched. 


	25. Him

"It's him. Over there. It's him."

I could make no sense of Watson's words and feared that he is about to have another attack when he shook his head violently and pointed out of the window.

"I'm not hallucinating, Holmes! He is there! Look!"

"Sherlock." I turned to see my brother standing by the windowsill, a slight frown creasing his features. 

"There is a man here."

On inspection, it proved to be true. A tall black haired man was standing there looking up at the window. On my appearance he started and then turned pale. Besides me, I heard Watson's voice.

"That's him. That's the filth that took Julia." 


	26. Brother

The lad looked terrified as I hauled him up the stairs. In fact, his face blanched even paler as I presented him before Sherlock and the doctor, both whose faces were clouded in rage. 

"I'm seeing you after sometime" the doctor almost spat his words out "David Lambert."

The lad's face became even paler. "Then, are you…are you…John Watson?"

"He is" I have seldom heard Sherlock sound so cold "And now, Mr. Lambert, let us-"

"I'm-I'm not David!"

The lad's terrified exclamation had an unusual effect. Sherlock leaned back, a sardonic smile m his lips. The doctor merely looked disgusted.

"Then who are you, if not David Lambert?"

"My n-name is Joseph, s-sir. Joseph Lambert, David's brother." 


	27. Come

"His brother?!" 

I stared at the man in surprise. "Lambert had a brother?"

He nodded quickly. "Yes, sir. That's me."

Holmes looked at me quizzically then turned back to the boy. "Very well, I'll take your word for it." A thin stream of smoke rose as he lit a pipe. "Alright, what do you want? And, most importantly, _where is your brother?"_

The man was clearly terrified out of his wits so I decided to put him to his ease.

"Easy, old fellow. Holmes means no harm. Is your brother here?" I still found it difficult to think of Lambert without conjuring the memory of my sister's terrified screams. 

"He-He said that he h-had already g-greeted you."

"Yes, I fancy he has." My tone as weary and full of suppressed rage. Holmes glanced at me sharply.

"Where is he now?"

"D-Downstairs."


	28. Nerve

_The nerve of the man!_

I was not aware that I had leapt to my feet until I felt my brother's soothing hand on my elbow. 

"Calm down, Sherlock. This is a surprising development, I admit, but we must think rationally."

"Rationally?! Mycroft, Watson's attacker is down there and there is no better a sensible thought unless I go and –"

"Mycroft's right, Holmes." Watson's quiet voice calmed my fury, but I noted with some distress that he had gone rather white above his collar and his breathing had increased unsteadily. 

The still shaking voice of Joseph Lambert broke the silence.

"He s-says that h-he wants to m-meet you."

I spun around and walked up to face the boy. His already pale face went into a rather unhealthy tinge of greenish yellow.

"_I'll _see him." My voice was soft and chilling. "Downstairs. _Now._"

There was a soft creak as the door opened.

"There is no need for that, Mr. Holmes." 


	29. Pound

There was a crash as David Lambert crumpled against the walls of the dorm. He slumped against the wall and did not move.

"Sherlock!"

"Holmes!"

I looked at Holmes in horror as he straightened up breathing very deeply. His brother looked similarly horrified. 

"There, that felt much better." Holmes turned around and looked at me. "Does that make you feel better, Watson?"

I blinked at him and looked back at the figure of the unconscious Scotsman, sprawled on the ground. A slow grin spread over my face.

"Yes, it does. It does very much." 


	30. Question

"Well, what are we to do with him?"

"We could always ask Scotland Yard-"

"Mycroft, I hate to say this, but that is a _supremely_ bad idea. The Yard is made of a race of bunglers and idiots-"

"That may be so, Sherlock, but as the official police force they do have some liberties and might accomplish it faster."

"Mycroft, they will probably want a _warrant _before they do that and I think we've wasted enough time already. Perhaps-"

" Holmes-"

"Yes, Watson?"

"I wish to question him myself."

"…Are you sure you are well enough to do so?"

"Absolutely."

"Very well then."


	31. Wake

David Lambert was still unconscious when Homes approached him. He looked doubtfully back to my determined face and then back at Lambert.

"Are you really sure about this? I could question him as well, you know."

"Yes, but I would like to do it Holmes. It would give me more peace f mind and there is something I want to ask him."

He hesitated a moment more, then regarded Lambert thoughtfully. Behind him, Joseph watched us, plainly terrified.

"Go on, Holmes. Wake him."

"He's in a deep sleep." Holmes muttered. "It'll be deuced difficult to wake him unless-"

"Just throw some water over him."

Holmes grinned at me then drew back his arm and gave David Lambert a resounding slap across his face.

"Holmes!"


	32. Favor

It had been a long time. As I looked at Lambert's face something in my stomach twisted with loathing and felt horribly terribly sick.

_Let her go! Julia!_

_Run! John!_

You are responsible for this, I thought grimly, looking at the tall, black haired youth in front of me.

To my intense disgust, David Lambert turned out to be one of those men, with dark handsome looks, to which, for no reason, most women found themselves attracted to.

I looked at him and he looked at me.

"Well, what is it? Come to goad me after all these years, Lambert?"My voice was laced with venom.

But, to my surprise, his voice was soft and almost gentle.

"No John. I came here to ask a favor."

**Sorry for the late update. I've been in a nail biting mood lately, with my results coming out. But today, FINALLY, they did! Woo Hoo! I'm officially in the 10****th**** grade! Yay! **


	33. Forgiveness

I believe my first reaction was complete and utter disbelief.

David Lambert sat there, his eyes on Watson, his face covered with bruises (for which I can proudly claim responsibility) and said nothing else.

And, Watson looked back at him, completely and utterly silent.

Finally, when the air was thick with awkwardness and quiet, I got to my feet. But before I could say a word, Watson spoke. His voice, to my surprise, was emotionless.

"There's nothing that you can say now, Dave."

I looked at him in surprise. He had turned his face away. A small nagging doubt poked me.

_John? And Dave? Since when have these two been on a first name basis?_

My thoughts were abruptly broken and I let out a yell of astonishment as David Lambert abruptly stood up. Tears coursed down his face.

"Forgive me, John! Oh please, my friend, forgive me!"

**I think that Britishers only refer to really close friends and family by their first name, right? I'm not actually very sure about this; but I think it is. **

**Oh yeah; So why don't Holmes and Watson call each other by their first names?**


	34. Something

_My friend?!_

I glanced in surprise at Sherlock, who sat as frozen as I did. He looked stunned.

David Lambert sprung from his seat and seized both of the doctor's hands. He was all in a tremble, white as a sheet and a dreadful mess. Tear tracks stood out clearly in his white, pale face. The hand gripping Dr. Watson's was shaking.

For a moment all was quiet. Then Watson turned his face and spoke quietly. I did not hear what he said and, I think, neither did Sherlock. But the moment he had finished, Lambert's face cleared up in a flash. Hope flooded his face and he looked around to us.

"I'll tell them." Watson's voice was almost inaudible. "But I still do not…believe you. Not completely anyway."

Lambert's face had fallen a bit but cleared up when he heard the last statement. He gave a funny jerky little nod and quickly went to stand in one corner of the room. Both Sherlock and I looked at the doctor in surprise.

"There's something…" Watson's voice was soft and hesitant. "There is something I need to tell you…"


	35. Mates

Joseph watched as David walked to the other corner of the room and leaned against the wall, his silly happy grin back on his face. He felt a little relieved; at least things were going like he said they would.

He looked back at John, now talking to that detective mate of his and that huge walrus of a man. They both had leaned in and were listening quite intently as John's voice rose and dropped with that special soothing quality of his.

Joseph sighed. He had always loved John's voice. It had been such a long time since he had last heard it. After John left, everything changed. Even David. And Miss Julia…

Joseph shook his head. There was no point thinking about that now. David said he and John would clear it up, right? Everything would be fine. After all, weren't Dave and John best mates?


	36. Younger

**This one is for KCS who asked a perfectly reasonable concern.**

"_Your best friend?!"_

I believe I could be forgiven for the incredulous tone in my voice. Mycroft looked similarly skeptical.

Watson merely nodded sadly.

Finally I found my voice. "Alright. If you were such chums, why did he try to kill you in a dark alley not so long ago?"(1)

Watson looked even more miserable. "He says he didn't; those were just his father's men. He says that he came to England just to meet me; he never meant to hurt me."

"He _says."_ I said, looking keenly at him.

Watson nodded, still a trifle pale. "I don't know whether to believe him or not. But…"

"There's a better way out of this." Mycroft's words made me look up. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the younger Lambert.

"You think he'll talk?" I said skeptically.

Mycroft smiled. "Yes, he will Sherlock." Then seeing my expression he added "Trust me, I know how younger brothers are."

Behind me I heard Watson hastily stifle a laugh.

Yup, this was her question


	37. Morgan

_Ok sorry for the long Hiatus but now I've got the story fixed. It was starting to sound a lot like KCS's 'A Brother Noble' so I was thinking about stopping it. At the moment I'm just going to let the story flow and see what happens._

(Joseph's POV)

John put a hand on my shoulder as I looked up at him hesitatingly. The two men, with the cold grey eyes, watched him.

"Joseph," John said softly, "I- Do you remember me?"

My head jolted up, indignant. "Of course I remember! Why shouldn't I remember?!" John looked at me startled. His two friends shifted slightly. I continued, my voice shaking softly, "You're all Dave's been talking about since coming here. He was really…_really_ happy when we got here and…" I winced as I remembered his expression "When we found out what Morgan had done…"

I heard a sharp intake of breath from John. "It was _Morgan_?"

"Yes." I lowered my head. Even I was shocked when I heard the news. Morgan….

"What is it, Watson?" I looked up to see one of the grey eyed men, the tall thin one, come forward and put a hand on John's shoulders.

I was wrong about the eyes. They aren't cold at all. Atleast, not to John.


	38. Thinking

(Holmes's POV)

It was late night when I returned to Baker Street. Watson remained in the hospital; the doctor's refused to discharge him yet. His 'friend' had gone to wherever he had stayed before. Mycroft had returned to the Diogenes Club to finish some government work.

Now I could think.

Lambert's brother had said that Watson's attacker was somebody called Morgan; apparently some sort of cousin of theirs. From what I could tell he appeared to be a weak and cowardly fellow, not the kind who went around plotting to kill people.

_But,_ Watson had said that, according to Lambert. Those men had been sent by their father, not cousin.

_What the hell is going on?!_


	39. Thinking2

(Watson's POV)

Once everyone had left, I sank into my bed, feeling drained, both physically and emotionally.

_Dave, how could you…._

The shock of meeting my childhood friend was finally taking its toll on my body. I could feel myself sinking towards unconsciousness. But a few words of David kept me awake.

_I never touched Julia, John! I swear it! Please, believe me, please…._

But, it was David that day who led her away…..or _was it_?!

_Morgan…._

Why had _he _suddenly become involved? Surely…

And almost unbidden-

_Hurry up, John, or we wont see the surprise that Father's brought!_

What surprise was it……?

**A/N: I think I deliberately like making it confusing.**


	40. Joseph

Joseph paused uncertainly in front of the door, and checked the address. 221b Baker Street. It was correct. He glanced at the window on the first floor with a solitary candlelight flickering behind the closed curtains. So John's friend was awake then…

He lifted his hand to knock, and then hesitated. This was not one of his best ideas, but…He bit his lip. Dave was still at the hotel, and wasn't going to miss him. He would be back before morning. John was at the hospital. And he was alone, with _that _man upstairs. If he ran now he could still get away, but he…he _had _to tell-

The door swung open and the light made Joseph blink. When he opened his eyes again, he gaped at the kindly old lady who was standing with the door open.

"Hello dear." She smiled at him. "No sense in standing out in the cold like that. Come in. You must be here to see Mr. Holmes, aren't you?"

"I-I…" stammered Joseph as the housekeeper gently propelled him inside.

"Go right up. He's awake. I'll get some tea."

And smiling benevolently she disappeared into a small room.

Joseph gazed up at the long flight of stairs. He made u his mind.

_Alright, Mr. Holmes. Here I come._


	41. Seventeen

"How many steps are there?"

Joseph blinked at the tall thin man standing in front of him. His eyebrows were furrowed together, as he regarded Joseph.

_He looks like he isn't to sure what to do with me. And he doesn't like it._

"How many steps is there from here to the ground floor, boy?"

There was that question again. Joseph bit back a scathing reply he knew he would be unable to throw. Damn his shyness!

John's friend was still regarding him in that strange piercing way of his. What was his name again? Oh, that's right, Sherlock Holmes. John had said he was a detective and he had that proud smile while saying it, like the one he used to give when talking about Harry.

He remembered that tight little smile Mr. Holmes had given when John when he had said that. _As if he was thinking that there wasn't any point of him being a detective if he couldn't help John._

"Seventeen." Of course, it was easy. Joseph noted a lot of things people didn't. It had become fun.

Sherlock Holmes flashed a sudden smile, one which made Joseph smile. Almost as if it was showing the man _inside_.

"Good. Now tell me what you came to say."

_I'm afraid the last chapter of Fanfiction will take some time to put up but should be done as soon as I can! _


	42. Thoughts

I lay on the hospital bed, and thought.

So much had happened over the past few hours that I was hard presses to clear my mind. Though Holmes had told me to get some sleep before he left I couldn't. I just _couldn't_. My head was filled with a queer buzzing, and no matter what I did, it just wouldn't go away.

Maybe I should try counting sheep. Mother always said it would work.

_Mother…_

I shook my head, feeling like a right fool. Mother had been gone for years, as had Father….

_And Julia. Henry. They too._

Again! Will my mind never clear of these thoughts? I got up, even though I had been repeatedly warned by the doctors not to do that, I reach for my gown. Perhaps a walk-

A gun pressed against my skull and my thoughts dispersed. 

**Right so I'm back in action with this one and **_**finally**_** the story's got some action in it. It really was crawling along at snails pace, geez. Now it should run smooth.**


	43. In London

I paced in front of the fire, the boy's eyes following me anxiously. His story was one of the most incredible I have heard, yet…

"And you are sure of your facts?" My question seemed to startle him.

"Of course! David and the others might not realize it, but I've seen Morgan over the years, Mr. Holmes! He's a very different from what David and John think he is."

"And you never told Watson or your brother anything?" A tiny doubt wormed into my mind.

The lad flushed a bit. "They wouldn't believe me." He said in a low voice, "At least David wouldn't. You always told me that I was too young to understand anything. John never said that of course. Not outright anyway. But I do notice a lot of things." The last was said in an almost inaudible tone.

I felt a little sympathy touch me. I had received the same kind of opposition when young, with none but my brother to support me.

The atmosphere was getting thick with awkwardness, so I coughed a little to disperse it.

"Ah, so about Morgan." The boy straightened, "How is he organizing his contacts from Scotland?"

Joseph blinked. "He isn't."

"Isn't what?"

"He isn't organizing them from Scotland. He's here, in England."

"I-What?"

Joseph looked puzzled. "Well of course. He came with us. Said he had some work. I think he planned-"

"_And you didn't tell me?!"_ I dived toward the door, paying no heed to the boy's surprised exclamations.

Morgan was here in London. Morgan had set the thugs on Watson. Watson was alone at the hospital.

Oh god……

_**Ok Joseph isn't supposed to be stupid or anything like that just because he doesn't tell Holmes that Watson's attacker is in London. He just hasn't got used to the deductive style of thinking and assumed that Holmes knew that already and that piece of information is unimportant.**_


	44. Kidnap

I think I almost stopped breathing for a moment.

The cold barrel of the gun moved to press against the back of my neck and a cold shiver ran down my spine as I heard a familiar, yet terrible, voice speak.

"Why, hello, John. Oh wait; it is Dr. Watson now, isn't it?"

Morgan.

I felt sick to my stomach. _Morgan_. Oh god, this was Morgan? The Morgan I remembered, the one who would get sick at the merest sight of blood, this was _him?_

Oh dear lord.

The barrel of the gun nudged my neck, none too gently, and I felt myself propelled to my feet.

"Where-Where are you taking me?" I was mortified to notice the tremor in my voice.

There was a soft laugh from my kidnapper. "That I'm not going to tell you, my dear John. I'm not stupid, your friend will have to-" He broke of suddenly and I heard the scrape of boots which had startled his senses. There was a slight creak as the door opened.

"John?"


	45. Beaten

I stumbled into the hospital's dark room. Beside me, Joseph also stopped, panting. We had reached. Finally.

It had seemed to take eternity simply to get the blasted lock on the hospital's door open, though Joseph informed me that it was only twenty seconds.

Why couldn't hospitals keep somebody in at night? I silently cursed my luck as I glanced around in the darkness. It would take some time, even for someone like me, to negotiate the dark corridors in this-

"_DAVE!" _Joseph's scream s startled me out of my reverie. I looked down just in time so him stumble towards one of the dark corridors.

"Wait, what-"My words were cut short as I spotted the man stumbling towards us out of the dark.

Eyes wide and filled with horror, Joseph's brother collapsed in front of us, his body bruised and beaten.

**Hopefully the next chapter will come up by tonight. Hopefully.**


	46. Torture

_Keep moving._ A sharp kick bought me back to my feet. I stumbled forward. Behind me, I heard Morgan snicker and felt despair.

_I didn't tell you to stop now did I, John, my friend? _Another kick. I stumbled and fell again. My entire body ached. Something warm and salty tricked from the side of my mouth. Blood.

"Move!" This time the threat was louder, more visible and for some curious reason this calmed me. All along this journey-_where? Where is he taking me?_- he had whispered out his threats in a seemingly emotionless fashion and had executed them even faster. Except for his occasional maniacal laughs, ringing through my head, I was willing to believe the very devil had possessed him.

The thought that he could possess an emotion like anger brought strange relief. It made him almost human.

I got to my feet a second time, and next minute felt a booted foot connect with my stomach. Sharp pangs of pain shot up my body and for a moment I lost consciousness.

When I came to myself, I noted a thick dark puddle spreading on the pavement beside me. I pulled myself to me feet, and noticed abstractly that it appeared to be dripping from my mouth. Blood.

_You've slept long enough. Move. _Turning my head slightly, I saw Morgan leaning against the wall. Its butt was stained. He cocked it at me.

"I said, _Move_."

**Yurgh. I can't believe I wrote that. I really hope no more torture scenes come, because Holmes might end up killing me.**

**And, I know it was supposed to go up, um….**_**before**_**, but my something was up with the net so I couldn't realy sorry. **

**Incidently, Ive been thinking of writing a supernaturnal story. Will it be OK, you think? Not out of place in this fandom? And if anyone is free and willing to help me write it, well, I would be most grateful.**

**I'm so sorry KCS! I didn't see that! It must have uploaded the wrong document! Ack! Thanks a bunch!**


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